


Any Excuse

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Non-Cursed AU, school!au, teacher!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Mayor finds a reason to finally close the school library, teacher Belle French feels a duty to do anything necessary to keep it open. Even if that means finally facing her favourite student’s over-protective, endlessly critical, undeniably attractive father Mr Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Excuse

**Author's Note:**

> My Rumbelle Christmas In July offering to jadzias-spots on Tumblr, who prompted ‘School AU, hot and heavy’.

There was a note left on Belle French’s desk, first thing on Monday morning.

This was always a sign of trouble, whenever she found a letter ominously addressed to ‘Miss French’ waiting for her in her classroom. There were only two people who had both access to the school early in the morning, and the overly critical, obsessively formal nature to leave a complaint in writing.

The more likely of the two was her favourite student’s father, who had taken recently to leaving acerbic, argumentative little notes every now and then when dropping Bae off before work. Belle knew this was partially her fault: he had questioned her teaching methods at parent’s night, since his son had started mentioning musical afternoons and arts and crafts. Mr Gold, being an old fashioned, protective soul, had thought to remind her that school was for learning, not for fun and games.

She had very sweetly and politely reminded him of her Masters in education, and told him where he could shove it. The first note had arrived three days later, bemoaning the lack of comment cards in classrooms, and announcing his decision to put his critique in writing, if her ego would not take it face-to-face.

Belle hated to admit that she almost hoped that this was another in that odd correspondence. For all that he was infuriating, even nasty, Belle had become rather fond of his cutting tone that hid his subtle humour, and had often scribbled a short, sharp response on the back, asking his son to kindly deliver the message. Why on earth that would be she had no idea, but she thought it had something to do with the challenge he presented.

But, looking closer, Belle’s heart sank when she recognised the penmanship. Not Mr Gold, then, but the other power player in town.

Belle picked up the note from Mayor Mills with a sinking heart. The day Henry Mills had enrolled at Storybrooke Elementary, thus granting Mayor Mills unprecedented access to the board of governors and the PTA, was a day that would live in infamy for anyone who valued the school’s autonomy, budget, and general educational principles. Belle felt badly for the boy himself: he was a great kid, and while Belle taught the grade above his, he spent a lot of time in the library during recess and lunch hour. She’d had some very enjoyable conversations with him in those times, and found him to be bright and kind, if a little lost. As if he were searching for something he didn’t know he was missing. Children shouldn’t look like that, Belle thought, not if their parents gave a damn.

That was why she dreaded the note on her desk: Mayor Mills usually only hounded Miss Blanchard about her son’s progress, and left anyone without contact with him alone for the most part. But if she knew he was spending more and more time in the library, then it might well cause her gaze to shift to Belle.

Let her, she thought stubbornly, any child who wants to read should be allowed to. Mary Margaret was a sweet-natured pacifist: Regina Mills would find a different opponent entirely in Belle French.

Belle opened the note, and could all but hear Mayor Mills’ smug tones dripping from the page as she read.

_Miss French_

_I do apologise for this informal method of communicating with you, but there seemed little need for a phone call or a personal visit about such a simple matter. As you may be aware, the budget for your school library has been a matter of much debate of late, considering the low interest the children appear to have in the books in general, and the somewhat questionable nature of their contents. As such, it has been agreed by the school governors that we simply cannot justify continuing to fund a sinking ship._

_I hope you will appreciate the extra time and energy you will doubtless have without the burden of running the library, and I hope this renewed focus will allow the test scores of your students to improve._

_Yours truly,_

_Mayor Regina Mills, governing body and PTA chairwoman_

Belle took a deep breath, and bit her tongue to keep from screaming, hard enough that she tasted blood. She’d known Regina didn’t approve of her son’s favourite hobby – Henry himself had told her that – and that the library’s budget was under consideration, but she’d never dreamed they might close it entirely! What kind of school didn’t have a library? What kind of heartless philistine denied children access to books?

The answer to that was evident in the paper clenched in her shaking hand. Belle stormed out of her classroom and marched down the hallway. Maybe the library could stay open if she just refused to close it, she thought, and with it came ridiculous images of handcuffing herself to the radiators or the bookshelves.

But to her horror, when she reached the library she found the handles of the doors chained and padlocked shut. The books were still inside – they hadn’t been removed yet, then, she thought desperately – but shaking the doors proved the chains were as firm as they looked. No one was getting inside, and Belle fought the urge once again to scream.

It was one thing to make her own child miserable at home; it was wrong and inexcusable, but legally she was Henry’s mother. But to take out her malice on every child in town… to remove Henry’s only sanctuary in a school full kids who ignored and ostracized him…

“This is madness,” she muttered under her breath, “cruel, stupid, blind madness.”

“No, dear,” that smug voice came from behind her, and she turned to see Mayor Mills herself, clad in her customary black, her dried-blood lips smirking their victory. “I’m afraid this is just business.”

“The school is for everyone, for every child!” Belle cried, “Business has nothing to do with it!”

“Really?” Regina raised an eyebrow, “And who’s going to pay for it?”

“We always found the funding before,” Belle pointed out, “Where did it go?”

“Up in smoke, I suppose,” Regina smiled. “I could show you the numbers, if you wanted to see them, but it’d do you no good. The board of governors agreed on Friday, and the PTA saw no reason to argue. The movers are coming next week to empty the place, and then it’ll be torn down and turned into an extension to the parking lot.”

“You’re the chairwoman of both committees!” Belle protested, “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“No one seems to mind, and I do get things done,” Regina pouted in mock sympathy and stepped closer. “I wouldn’t be so sad, dear. Look on the bright side: you’ll have so much more free time now, with this little distraction gone. You might even get to focus on your own students, and stay away from Miss Blanchard’s.”

“That’s what this is,” Belle nodded, thankful at least to have her suspicions confirmed. “This isn’t about money, this is about Henry getting close to someone who isn’t you. The library is a place you can’t poison, and you can’t bully me like you can Mary Margaret. Do you have to take away everything that makes him happy?”

“I have to keep him safe,” Regina replied, coolly. “I’m his mother, that’s my job. You’re not his teacher, and now you’re not even his librarian. I fail to see what right you have to argue with me here, Miss French.”

“You sold this nonsense to the PTA and the governors based on the budget?” Belle clarified, and Regina nodded.

“It is a financial issue, yes. We simply can’t afford such an… extravagance.”

“Fine,” Belle nodded, “then I’ll find a way to fund it myself, without putting any weight on the school’s budget. Then you’d have to keep it open, right? You won’t get any extra revenue from a parking lot. Not any legal revenue, anyway.”

“It’s a money pit, dear,” Regina purred. “You can’t keep it afloat on a teacher’s salary.”

“Watch me,” Belle snapped back, and then, without another word to the Mayor, turned on her heel and marched off down the corridor. She kept her shoulders set and firm, her back straight with confidence she didn’t really feel.

“Oh God, Belle,” she murmured under her breath, as she rounded the corner back into her own classroom and closed the door, flattening herself against the wood and breathing hard. “What have you done now?”

“Miss French?” a voice came from the desks, and she looked up to find Bae Gold watching her with concerned eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she forced herself to smile reassuringly at the boy, hoping she hadn’t accidentally sworn under her breath. That’d be all she needed, another note from Bae’s father chastising her for swearing in front of his son. Then he’d probably have the ammunition he needed to get her sacked, or at least file a formal complaint against her. For all that Belle was enjoying the dangerous little bickering match they had going on paper, she was under no illusions that he wasn’t trying to undermine her, or that trusted her with his son. Not that she thought Bae would tattle on her, but still. “Nothing at all, how are you? Did you get all the math homework done?”

“Yeah,” Bae looked at the door, a little distractedly. “Uh, Miss French?”

“What, Bae?”

“You’re stopping the rest of the class from getting inside.”

Belle launched herself away from the door like it was on fire, and then staggered to the desk, running shaking hands through her hair and trying desperately to look calm and professional. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss French?” Bae asked again, as the seats started filling up. The other students were all watching her too, and Belle realised she must have marched right past them and slammed the door in their faces in her haste to get away from the Mayor. Wonderful.

“No, Bae,” she sighed, deciding – as she always did – that honesty was the best policy after all. “I, ah, I got some bad news this morning.”

“What happened, Miss?” Grace Hatter asked, from the other side of the room.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for all of you, in fact.” She sank back against the desk, defeated. “Last Friday, unbeknownst to us until this morning, the school governors voted to close the library.”

Silence. Crickets. They were waiting for the bad news. Belle tried not to feel sad that Regina had apparently been right: the kids really didn’t care about the books.

“For good,” she added, in the hopes they’d simply misunderstood. “They’re going to bulldoze it and turn it into a parking lot.”

Grace Hatter blinked, “But… why?”

“She says it’s a money issue,” Belle explained, helpless to justify such a terrible notion. “I think that maybe she just doesn’t like books.”

“Wait,” one of the girls at the back frowned, “Does that mean no more reading hour?”

Belle felt a little heartened by the sadness in the girl’s tone; for all that it made her even angrier when she had to say, “Yes, it does.”

“The bookstore doesn’t have a kids’ section,” one of the boys interjected. “So… I can’t get the rest of the Harry Potter books?”

“Not from here, not for free,” Belle confirmed.

The class was silent. Not crickets-silent, Belle thought, shocked-silent. For all that there were few kids who spent a lot of time in the library itself, she was starting to remember the amount who came in every now and then to check out longer series, one book at a time. She had been actively encouraging them to do so, and every other day her class had a reading hour, where the kids sat and read whatever book they had with them. Many of those books had been school library books, since their parents were unable or unwilling to pay expensive shipping costs to order online.

“But you’re going to save it, right?” Bae pleaded, at last. “There has to be something we can do.”

“I’m going to try,” Belle nodded, raising her chin, trying to look like the kind of brave heroine who could slay dragons like Regina Mills. “I’m certainly going to try.”

That seemed to mollify the class a little, although everyone did seem a little sombre through the day. The news spread like wildfire at recess, and several kids came up to her on the playground to, with sad eyes, hand back the books they’d borrowed. Someone had apparently said they had to. Someone they were very, very scared of.

She didn’t accept a single volume. “The library isn’t officially closed for another week, chains or no chains,” she told them, with an optimism she was trying desperately to believe in. “Hold on to them until then at least, okay?”

But a few days passed, and though Belle looked into several loan options and charities, no one seemed to be willing to interfere in a school matter. No bank would lend her the money for a project without a profitable future, and no charity would go over the head of the governors. Fundraising would take too long, and while a push to the parents might keep it open a few more weeks, there was no hope to keep it open indefinitely on donations.

By the time the bell rang on Thursday, fate had still brought no helpful millionaire benefactors or winning lottery tickets to bolster her fairly pathetic savings, and Belle was finding it harder to keep the smile on her face.

She did have one more idea, and had even gone so far as to make an inquiry or two as to how she could go about it, but she knew she’d have to be truly desperate to go to him for help.

She walked home gloomily, thankful at least to be able to feel the weight of her anxiety and sadness now with no kids watching. Belle believed very firmly in looking on the bright side, but it was exhausting to present an unfailingly happy, brave face all day, when she had this weight on her shoulders. The kids needed the library, and she couldn’t help but feel it as a personal defeat if it closed despite her efforts to save it.

That was when she walked past the pawnshop. It wasn’t on her normal route, not at all, but she’d been mulling the idea over all day and apparently her feet had made the decision even when her mind was still unresolved.

Mr Gold’s store was a place most people in town walked past quickly, without pausing or slowing down. It was a dark little den in an otherwise relentlessly bright, cheery town, and everyone knew the stories about its owner. He was the town monster, everyone’s landlord, renowned for raising rents at the drop of a hat and snarling at small children and puppies. No one ever got away with even bending the rules of his deals, and once he got his claws into someone he never let go.

And he was the man who, for two straight months now, had been relentlessly leaving constructive criticism and outright insults for her to find at her workplace. For all her odd little sense of humour had enjoyed firing back at him, she was under no illusions that Mr Gold was in any way a nice man.

How a man like that could have fathered and raised a sweet, serious boy like Bae, Belle could not understand. Bae had clearly been raised well, he knew how to share and he was polite, kind and always did his homework. He helped other children with theirs, in fact, and was a frequent visitor to the library. Had been, at least.

But then, Mr Gold was mostly just protective, as any single parent would be of their only son. She’d never heard anyone say a kind word about him, and while she could understand why, Belle had to wonder what a lonely life that had to be, having no one but one’s own child to talk to. Which also explained how much fun he seemed to have sparring with her over how best to educate Bae: maybe he, much like Belle herself, needed the company of other adults, adults with intelligence who were willing to interact with him, to remind him how to coexist with people. Maybe he was just awkward more than he was rude, and less malevolent than he was sharp and well aware of how unwelcome he was wherever he went.

He wasn’t an explicitly bad person; of that Belle was certain. She couldn’t deny it was fun to argue with him.

And he was the richest man in town.

Squaring her shoulders, Belle knew this was a crossroads moment. After all her research, every plan she’d tried and failed to get anywhere raising funds for the library, she knew this was likely her last resort. She needed a backer, and no one in town could match Regina for power, influence, or money aside from him. And he’d never seemed to actually hate her, or tried to get her fired – that had to mean something, right?

But here the power dynamic was different, and there was no telling what he might demand of her, if she made a deal with him. She wouldn’t be Bae’s teacher, an independent agent on equal footing: she would be another client, indebted to him. He could charge ridiculously high interest, claim her home and make her live in her car, or use her father’s shop as collateral if she couldn’t pay up. If she did this, there would be no going back.

But if she didn’t, Regina would win, and the library would close for good.

Her mind made up – for since when had Belle French ever been scared of a dragon? – Belle raised her chin, turned to the door, and entered the shop.

The bell rang over her head, and Mr Gold looked up from the papers spread out on his desk with a raised eyebrow.

“Miss French,” his bored expression spread into a smile that wasn’t entirely unfriendly. He seemed a little guarded, taken by surprise, and this was undoubtedly unusual: she’d never seen him off school grounds. But there was a kind of startled hope, even warmth, in that odd smile of his. “What an unexpected pleasure. I do hope my son isn’t in some kind of trouble, to prompt such a visit.”

“If that were the case, I’d have called you into the school to discuss it,” Belle told him, calmly. “As per procedure.”

“You’d be on your home turf,” Gold nodded. “Not here in the monster’s lair.”

“Hey, I never said anything about monsters.”

“Oh, but you did,” he smirked, and to Belle’s horror, he reached into a small file beneath his desk and withdrew a note she recognised. Her own handwriting slanted across the page, terse and quick, as he read, ‘any belief that children should be educated without the freedom to run and play is monstrous, and you should be ashamed of yourself!’” he read aloud, and Belle groaned, appalled to have her own foolish words thrown back at her. Worse still, he’d apparently kept every note they’d ever exchanged on file for future blackmail. Perfect. “Plus, you tarried for a good two and half minutes outside my shop before braving the door,” he continued, “hardly indicating a willingness to come inside.

“I was finishing a phone call,” Belle lied, but she didn’t think he bought it. “Anyway, I’m not here about your son, or about what appears to be a fetish for written correspondence. I’m actually here to talk to you.”

“Oh?” his eyebrow rose, and again there was that odd flicker of hopeful warmth in his dark eyes. Very nice eyes they were too, Belle realised with a start. How had she forgotten what nice eyes he had? “About what, pray tell?”

“Something important,” she hedged, “I have a problem you might be able to help with.” Belle watched with bewildered disappointment as those lights in his eyes died on the spot.

He smiled again then, an unfriendly smile, all teeth. Belle shivered. “Ah, so what size loan do you need, then?” he asked, all business, bitterness lacing his tone, “Or is it that you intend to pawn something? That teacher’s salary not stretching as far as it needs these days, dearie? Such a pity.”

“How do you know I’m here about money?” Belle asked, a little wrong-footed, as she’d intended to make her pitch more casually, allow him to understand how vital the library was before she told him it might close.

“If you’re not here in your capacity as my son’s teacher, then you must be here as a private citizen, and you’ve been clear you’ve come for my help, not my scintillating company. And that makes this a monetary issue, for what else could you require from the infamous Mr Gold?”

“That’s a cynical attitude to take,” she accused. His lips curved into a thin smile.

“I prefer realistic,” he argued. “We can’t all be idealistic young school teachers, moulding minds with songs and games and such. Some of us have to deal with the world as it is. Or have you been a little busy finger painting to keep an eye on your finances, as well as my son’s math scores?”

“I don’t need anything at all for myself,” she bristled. “I’m perfectly solvent, thank you.”

“Then why on earth did you come to me?”

“The library,” she snapped, appalled at her own bluntness but incapable of subtlety with such an unpleasant man. She had been a fool to think that his kindness to his son and his loneliness made up for how awful he could be. “The school library.”

“What about it?” Mr Gold blinked, mystified. “Does Bae have an overdue book?”

“No, you idiot!” Belle resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration, “It’s going to be closed down, turned into a parking lot!”

“How very Joni Mitchell,” Mr Gold mused. “And what am I to do about that? That’s public policy, dearie, and I’m firmly in the private sector.”

“From what I’ve heard, you are the private sector in this town.”

“Indeed,” again, that thin smile, almost like a grimace, and Belle wondered through her frustration and her annoyance if it were truly aimed at her. Was it possible that he recognised how awful he was being, and hated it as much as she did? Or, more impossible yet, was he unhappy that she’d come to him in person for a financial matter, not as a personal visit?

“I know you have the money to finance the endeavour,” Belle said. “I know because I know how much property you own, and how much rent you collect.”

“Do you now?” his eyebrows rose, and she thought that she might have actually piqued his interest. “Clever girl. Clever enough, in fact, to recognise that while I more than have the funds you require, I have no incentive to hand them over to you. I am not a charity, Miss French, nor am I known for my philanthropy.”

“You are a father, though,” she pulled out her ace with a flourish, and grinned as she saw that blow hit. That was the core of him, she realised: not the miserly attitude or the cynical, self-righteous sneering. He was a father before he was anything, and Bae loved that library. “Bae comes to the library at least few times every week, and I’ve seen how much he enjoys browsing for something to read. He’s read the entire section on reptiles, and this month he’s into Greek mythology. I know because I showed him his first book about Mount Olympus.”

“Ah,” Mr Gold nodded, “so it is you I should hold responsible for these damned Percy Jackson books cluttering my kitchen table?”

“I knew he hadn’t returned them!” Belle crowed, vindicated, remembering the oh-so-earnest look on Bae’s face every time she’d questioned him about the missing volumes. Mr Gold raised an eyebrow; Belle sobered. “Anyway, sorry, my point is that you must understand how much he loves the library,” she reasoned, “and yes, you could likely buy him an entire library of his own, but there’s no fun in that. Libraries are best when you can browse at will, find things you’d have never considered by yourself, and when there’s a community to share your finds with. Children need that, or they grow up glued to a television set or a laptop and never see an inch of the world outside.”

Belle finished her speech with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a little breathless, and she thought she must have imagined the way his eyes flicked just once from her own down to her parted lips and heaving chest. She must have imagined it: there was no way Mr Gold would be checking her out, after all.

“An impressive speech, Miss French,” he said, “but I’m afraid that many people before have learned that appealing to my softer side is a poor approach.”

“I’m appealing to you as a parent who wishes to provide for his son,” Belle argued back.

“But this library of yours isn’t for my son, is it?” he snarled, for all that smile was still in place. She’d hit a nerve, and she knew it. “It’s a vanity project, for the use of all students. Is that what you’re really here for, Miss French? So you can be the hero of the hour, who braved the beast and saved the day? So there will be a plaque on the wall in honour of your sacrifice?”

“I’m here because your son is one of many who use the library as a place of learning, of inspiration, and of solace. This town isn’t an easy place for a child, Mr Gold. People here are quiet, stiff, and very conservative. They’d rather be closed off in their own little stories than branch out and read a new one. Libraries provide hope to children who have none, clever children who long for more.”

“Ah, and so speaks the voice of experience,” he said, heavily. Belle, having learned by now that lies, pretence and subtlety were folly in the face of his mastery, fell back again on brunt-force honesty. She nodded.

“Yes, so it does,” she said. “I’m not afraid to admit that my school library, and then the university library, and in every place since, were sanctuaries to me in times of need. There are children today who need the same place, and with Mayor Mills unwilling to even consider renovating the public library… this project needs funding, and the children need this project. And you’re my last hope.”

“Touching,” he smirked, “but again, idealistic, unrealistic. I’m a hard man, Miss French, and I require hard facts. How is this an investment? You’ll hardly be charging for use.”

“I suppose if I told you that all education is an investment in the future, you’d sneer at my so-called idealism again?” she muttered. He nodded, grinning.

“Now you’re catching on,” he noted.

“As you said, I’m a school teacher, with little knowledge of finance. But you’re a clever man, Mr Gold, and you’ve a knack for exacting your price. Mayor Mills wants the library gone first and foremost because her son loves it, and since he cannot be allowed to love anyone but her, it must be destroyed. It’d piss her off royally if her rival stepped in and stole that vision right out from under her.”

“Annoying Mayor Mills? Now that’s a prospect worth investigating,” he smiled again, a thoughtful and not entirely empty smile, his first of the meeting. “And…” he sighed, shook his head, looked down at his hand on his cane, the first time he’d stopped looking at her since she’d walked in. It was a relief, Belle found, to be released from under his intense, penetrating gaze, as if the air were lighter and easier to breathe. “And you are right, Miss French, on one account. My boy would be disappointed if that witch closed down his favourite place.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Belle asked, breathlessly, unable to believe her fortune. “Really?”

“I’ll consider my options,” he said, and then looked back up at her, his eyes gleaming with sly inspiration, smile widening with sharp teeth. She felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, and she fought the urge to step back away from the pointed intent in that smile. Her heart pounded in her chest; she hoped it was from fear alone.

He was handsome, that much had to be admitted, but the darkness in his eyes was as unsettling as it was intriguing. And yet, even as he looked at her like a predator, there was a glimmer of something else underneath, a quirk in his lips that spoke of deep distaste for his own actions. Such a strange man, mysterious, and damn it but Belle had always enjoyed a good mystery. Maybe that was why she’d enjoyed his notes so much: they provided tantalising little pieces of insight into a very complex human being.

“You believe in this project, Miss French?” he asked, then, voice soft and smooth as silk, and she nodded, a little confused as to why he had to ask.

“I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“You would do anything to see it come about?” he checked, and Belle felt as if the weight of the world lay on the answer.

“That sounds like something a monster would say,” she said quietly, “before he devoured me whole.”

Mr Gold gaped at her, and Belle rather enjoyed this new attitude, taken aback and momentarily stunned. His eyes were wide and dark, and for another second, undeniable this time, they dropped from her eyes to her lips and her chest and back again. A shiver ran down Belle’s spine, heat pooling low in her belly in response to the same fires burning in his eyes. She’d said he would devour her whole, and now she wondered if he intended to.

“Would you like that?” he rasped, and Belle’s brain stammered to a halt, able to believe he’d just said that.

“I… would like do whatever is needed to have the library funded,” she managed, at last, diplomatic and noncommittal. How they’d gone from discussing funding to idealism to sex in one conversation she didn’t understand, but she was certain that they had. And while that last topic was more intriguing than Belle was entirely comfortable with, it wasn’t what she’d come to discuss.

“Ah,” he nodded, drawing back, pursing his lips and bracing his hands on his cane, inscrutable. “Well, dearie, what is needed is something in return. Recompense for my time, my support, and ultimately, my money.”

“So, name your price,” Belle challenged around a dry throat, trying to remain calm and not let her fluttering nerves get the better of her. She had never been this unsettled in her life, but something about him just threw her entirely off-kilter, and she was scrambling to find her footing. “I promise you I don’t own anything of any value, my house is in my father’s name and-“

“Oh, no Miss French,” he held up a hand, silencing her. “You misunderstand me. I have no need for your paltry belongings.”

“Oh,” she blinked and frowned, confused once more. “Then… what?”

“My price, Miss French,” he said, drawing his lips back in a slow smile, showing all of his teeth like a shark, “Is you.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered, mind reeling, thoughts of tawdry novels about sexual slavery and news reports of human trafficking rings playing through her head.

He chuckled, and shook his head, some of the intensity leaving him, “My son does say I have a flare for the dramatic,” he murmured, and this smile almost seemed genuine. “I would like you to dine with me, Miss French,” he said, as if he weren’t holding her library to ransom in return for a… date. As if he was, but it was perfectly reasonable, and definitely something normal people did.

“To discuss the details?” she pressed, and he fiddled with the handle of his cane, as if he were nervous, of all things. “Or… Mr Gold, are you asking me out?”

“I believe that is the correct term, yes,” he replied, tersely. “You said you would do anything that was needed to secure this funding. I assure you I could make the terms of this agreement far more onerous, if I so wished. If you aren’t willing to make a personal sacrifice then… well, then I don’t understand why I should be expected to do the same.”

“I didn’t say no,” she pointed out, gently. He was afraid of being rejected, she realised, deathly afraid. So afraid he could hardly look her in the eye, and it was her turn to watch him speculatively, to stare him down. Perhaps that was the reason he’d looked so hopeful when she first entered the shop. Perhaps, in his own odd way, those critical notes had been his way of courting her. “Why?”

“My reasons are my own,” he told her, confirming all and none of her suspicions. “My offer still stands. I will support this project, and find a way to save your library, if you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

“That’s all?” she checked. “No hidden fine print? You won’t turn around tomorrow and call in my house as collateral?”

“My son wants his library,” Mr Gold shrugged, “As do you. He will repay me with good behaviour and high grades. You will pay with your company.”

“Then… alright,” she raised her chin, her mind made up. “I will go out with you. Tonight. If that’s what is needed to secure the funding.”

“Wonderful,” he grinned again, all teeth and malice, but she knew she caught the relief and apprehension warring behind his eyes. He was fiddling with his cane still, too restless to be entirely at ease. Nervous, definitely nervous, despite all his apparent smug control, and that in turn gave Belle courage. His fingers were long and shapely, dextrous, and the thought of them penning all those words to her – critical and cutting though they’d been, she now wondered if he’d imbued them with something she hadn’t detected before – suddenly made her shiver. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It’s a date,” she replied, trying to keep her tone even, business like, and hide the tumult of emotions whirring away inside her. It would not do to let him see her squirm, after all. Whatever those melting dark eyes, and that low voice were doing to her insides. However sure she was of some other kind of man hidden beneath his mask, a better man who had raised such a sweet-natured, perceptive child.

She wrote her address down on a slip of paper from her purse, and left it on the counter. Another note, she thought, for the first time initiated by her. Then she turned around, and left without another word.

Belle stopped to breathe only when she had rounded the corner and was certain that she was out of sight or sound of the shop. Then she flattened herself against the wall, and took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Belle,” she muttered, “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

* * *

The shop closed at five pm on normal nights, but Gold reasoned that no one would notice – or, indeed, care – if he closed a little early tonight. Not that there was any reason to do so, oh no, but if there were that would not be an issue. The shop was something of a side-business, in any case. The majority of his income still came from the vast amounts of real estate around town.

The fact that Gold did not, in fact, own Miss Belle French’s home was an oversight he knew he should have corrected long ago. It would have been no trouble at all, the moment he’d discovered she was to be Bae’s fifth grade teacher, to quietly buy up her home and transfer the rent holdings into his own name. He had long since discovered the wisdom of having everyone of any relevance indebted to him, whether or not that string would ever need to be pulled.

But he had dismissed the idea at the time, too caught up in larger dealings, and had regretted it ever since. Not that he could have thrown her out on her ear in any case, no, Bae was far too fond of her for all that. The moment she let slip what had happened, his son would look at him like he’d just shot a kitten right in front of him. Which, incidentally, was what it would likely be like to be actively cruel to Belle French. Like shooting a kitten in front of a crying child.

It was thinking like that that had lead him to make his foolish request of her. It had been thinking like that that had lead him to write at least twenty different notes to her over the past two months picking stupid little fights, in a pitiful excuse to gain her attention. And now he was caught agonising over a date with a woman who would only attend on sufferance, because he was too much a coward to ask a woman on a date without strings attached.

At least she was beautiful, he reasoned, so no matter how silent or angry she was through their meal, he would at least have the pleasure of looking upon her. He couldn’t imagine she’d cower in fear, stammer compliments to save her skin or worse, fail to attend at all. She would hold her pride, and at the very least he could get some enjoyment out of trading barbs and insults with her over dinner. He had so enjoyed doing so on paper, and in person the pleasure of seeing her eyes spark and her cheeks flush with anger would be exquisite. There were worse fates, he reasoned.

Gold sighed, and ran a hand over his face, locking up the door and heading off home down the street. Even if it hadn’t been Miss French, a woman he’d been incapable of keeping from his mind since they’d first met and she’d all but bitten his head off in response to his casual threats, he’d have stepped in to save the library. Whenever his son made those big pleading eyes, he was putty in the boy’s hands, and he’d already asked three days ago. God help him if Bae ever asked him for something truly outlandish, like a tattoo or a motorcycle.

His father had always told him that attachments were fatal. Gold hated to admit that the old bastard might have been right.

Gold’s stomach clenched and rolled with nerves at that thought, but he bit the inside of his lip hard and tried to control himself. A man of fifty should not work himself up this badly over a single date with a pretty girl, and especially not a girl likely half his age, who had only agreed because she needed him financially. It was a stone’s throw from prostitution, in fact, but Gold didn’t think Belle would appreciate the comparison.

Belle had nothing of value to give him, property-wise, but she was beautiful and clever, sharp and full of fire, and that gave her person a certain value of its own. Beautiful, kind women found it painful to spend time with ugly, cruel men, so that was what he’d made her do.

She had only agreed because she needed the funding. He knew that, and that she was willing to go out with an ogre like him for the sake of her students – one of whom was his own son – spoke very well for her.

And the more he kept telling himself that, the less he would dwell on that odd, tense little moment when she’d all but asked him to devour her, and he’d all but begged for permission to do so. Her breath had hitched in her throat, those lush red lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He had been entranced, and certain in that moment that it was not fear that had brought that bright, comely blush to her cheeks.

It was madness, utter madness, but it wouldn’t leave his mind. He wanted to inspire that look again, wanted to see how far down her blushes went. He wanted to devour her just as she’d said, and the knowledge that she’d never want him to, that that had to have been a purely physical reaction and nothing she’d ever be comfortable admitting to, was a bucket of cold water over his heated thoughts.

At least lust was one of the deadly sins, for all that Gold had never been a lecher. Not that anyone would ever believe that of course, when everyone in town knew the truth: Gold wasn’t just a sinner, he took delight in tempting others to cross those careful, vital lines as well.

He crossed the threshold of his home with a weary sigh, but didn’t have it in him for once to scold Bae for leaving his shoes strewn over the floor, and a veritable breadcrumb trail of debris and belongings leading him from the hallway to the living room. Bae was curled on the sofa, reading another of those damnable Percy Jackson books, and Gold knew better than to ask: he’d hear a full rundown of the latest chapter at dinner, he knew.

Except no, of course, he wouldn’t: he wouldn’t be at dinner tonight, would he?

“Hey, Bae?” he interrupted, and Bae dragged himself from his story to look up at his father, standing awkwardly by the door.

“Yeah, papa?”

“Would it be alright by you if I called Jefferson to come watch you this evening? I’m sure he’d bring that daughter of his to keep you company.”

“Sure, papa,” Bae replied absently, the arrangement being a commonplace thing requiring little more than assent. Bae and Grace Hatter were the best of friends, and Gold himself had found it hard to dislike or distrust her father, for all is eccentricities. Jefferson was probably the only man in town Gold would allow into his home by choice, much less leave alone with his son for an evening, and Gold himself had watched the children enough nights to trust in the arrangement. They weren’t exactly friends, but then they didn’t need to be. “Why? You have a meeting?”

“Something like that,” Gold replied, and gave a tight smile, “I can fix you dinner before they arrive, if you’d like?”

Bae grimaced, and nodded, “Please, papa.” Gold smiled at the desperation in his son’s voice: Jefferson was a wonder with children, but a lousy cook, and usually ended up relying on oven-fries and chicken nuggets for dinner.

“I was planning pasta, before this, ah, meeting came up,” Gold explained. He passed through the open double-doors and into the kitchen while only raising his voice in deference to distance. “I can save leftovers if Grace wants some.”

“Thanks papa!” Bae called, and then silence returned, telling Gold that Bae assumed the topic exhausted, and wasn’t at all curious about his father’s plans.

Which was probably a good thing, since ‘Oh, by the way, I blackmailed your favourite teacher into a date with me by threatening to help destroy your favourite place at school’ would probably dent the otherwise close relationship they enjoyed. Gold needed one person on Earth to like him, at least.

Belle French didn’t like him. Belle French was probably home right now throwing things and fuming at the corner he’d backed her into. The image caused a secret smile to twitch at his lips: it was fun to imagine her all riled her up.

He made the promised meal and arranged for Jefferson to come over, and then sat with his son to talk while he ate. Sure enough, Bae gabbled a recount of the whole fifth chapter of his book around mouthfuls of spaghetti, and it was only Gold reminding him to slow down, to chew, to swallow before speaking, that kept him from choking.

“You like these books, don’t you?” he asked, when Bae seemed to have finished his story

“Yeah,” Bae agreed, sauce dripping comically from his chin, “They’re awesome.”

“You know I could buy them all for you,” Gold reminded him, “you could read them as much as you like, without all the marks from other children.”

“Could I still read them in the reading nook?” he asked, excitedly. “’Cause those’re the comfiest chairs ever!”

“Bae… are you telling me that you’d choose a chair over every book I could buy for you?”

“No, I’m saying it’s an awesome chair,” Bae said, as if his father were particularly dim-witted today. “Keep up, papa.”

“You love the library, don’t you?” Gold asked then, and Bae nodded.

“It’s probably the only bit of school that doesn’t feel like jail,” he admitted. “Everything else is all cold and stone and sometimes there’s bugs. The library’s covered in wood and cushions and big bright models we made in art class. Miss French made it really pretty.”

“I see,” Gold nodded, not saying another word, and he went back to sipping his tea.

It was Bae who next broke the silence, looking at his father with a speculative look on his little face. “Papa?” he hazarded, and Gold raised his eyebrows, unsure of what could have made his brave little boy so cautious all of a sudden.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Is… is your meeting tonight with Miss French?” Bae blurted, in one long rush, “Because you said you’d try to help and she seemed super sad today and asked me if you work in the shop yourself and I said yes so I kinda figured maybe you’d said something or she said something or something?”

“I am meeting to discuss the library tonight, yes,” Gold confirmed, hoping his clever little boy was still too young to notice how he’d not confirmed the other attendees. Or the venue, or why it was taking place so late in the evening, for that matter.

“Good,” Bae nodded, resolutely. “That’s good.”

Gold attempted a smile, and nodded back. “I hope so. At any rate, I’d best be getting ready, so I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

Bae had already wedged his book under the rim of his plate, and Gold received only a distracted nod goodbye as he headed for the stairs.

Two hours later, showered, changed, and with Bae settled with Grace and her father in front of the television, Gold set off.

It was raining, which was a good thing by his estimation, as it meant she wouldn’t try to make him walk very far outside. It also created a nicely gloomy mood, a sense of foreboding that he felt rather helped accentuate the fact that he had no hopes for this evening, beyond the sadistic pleasure he’d glean from her discomfort. He’d park at the curb, he thought, and blast his horn to signal the fact he was ready to leave. Not only would that certainly dispel any gentlemanly illusions Miss French may have conjured for herself, but it would also mean she had to get damp between the door and the car. His car, his choice of eatery, and he’d be warm and dry while she shivered. Anything to gain the upper hand.

That she was already waiting on the porch, sunny smile on her lips, wrapped in a fitted raincoat, and an umbrella in her hands, was something of a surprise. He’d somehow managed to underestimate the little schoolteacher, even knowing full well her impressive intellect, and her brave soul: she was armed and ready for battle, it seemed.

She opened the car door and slid into her seat with a rueful little sigh, “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Marvellous,” he agreed, a little touch distracted by the length and shape of her bare legs. She had been prim earlier today, woolly tights and a knee-length skirt, blouse buttoned to her collar. This dress was something else altogether: short, mid thigh, and bright blue.  Her raincoat ended a fraction of an inch lower than her skirt, and below that nothing, just long stretches of bare skin, broken only by the straps of her high heels on her ankles.

He forced his eyes back to hers, and she grinned at him, slow and smug. Round one, apparently, went to the librarian.

“So,” she beamed, “where are we off to?”

“There’s a nice Italian place just outside of town,” he told her, forgetting in the face of that smile that he had planned to keep the destination a secret, to keep her off-balance. Apparently any unsettling affect he’d managed this afternoon had been spoilt in the interim, and Belle had become quite immune to his usual tricks.

“So this is a date,” she pressed, and he wondered why she was smiling with satisfaction, as if she wanted to be here. As if he hadn’t bought her company by threatening the thing she loved most, and his son’s happiness into the bargain.

“You seem pleased by that prospect,” he noted, deciding that if honesty was her weapon then it could be his too, however clumsy it felt in his mouth. “You did not seem that way earlier.”

“Mr Gold, there are only two reasons you could have decided to make this your bargain,” Belle stated, “Either this is a meeting, meaning that we are to iron out the details of the agreement, and you reserve the right to pull out…”

“Or?” he prompted, and she laughed, a light, sweet, bubbling little noise.

“Or this is the price for your aid, meaning that I’m currently paying for your help. Which means that you are then contractually bound to help me in return. If this is a date, it means you’ve decided to help save the library.”

“I said as much in the shop, did I not?” he all but snapped back, irritated by how simply she’d figured him out, and how unfazed she seemed by the truth. “Or are you so convinced that every word I say carries three layers of deceit beneath it?”

“It’s nice to have confirmation, is all,” she replied. “Italian sounds nice.”

“Then Italian it is,” he actually caught himself smiling, as if he were pleased to have made a choice that met with her approval. He was an idiot, and would be lucky to make it through this in one piece.

He started to drive, and hoped she would remain silent. His hopes were doomed to be dashed tonight, it seemed: she started talking no more than two minutes later. “Did you start sending me those notes because you wanted to ask me out?” she asked, and Gold swore he lost feeling in his extremities; his shock was so deep and so great.

“I… excuse me?” he stammered, wondering if he should pull over because his mind had become a white, screaming, terrified hell-scape.

Belle just sighed, and pressed her skirt with her palms, comfortable as could be. “It’s a simple question,” she said. “I just wanted to know whether this was part of some great big complex plan to get me on a date, or if this was a spur-of-the-moment thing to make me uncomfortable. I want to know where I stand.”

“You’re not one for subtleties, are you Miss French?” he asked, a little strained, and she laughed at him for that.

“Says the man who honked at the curb for me,” she chortled.

“I saw you waiting outside!” he lied, “I didn’t want to get wet if I didn’t have to.”

“Liar,” she grinned, “you’re trying to set me off-kilter, just like earlier. So I want to know if that’s your intention, or if you’re just not sure how to go out without insulting your date.”

“So you’re essentially asking if I’m cruel or simply incompetent,” he clarified, eyes narrowed, and she nodded.

“There’s that cynicism again,” she sighed, “I’m asking if you’re here for business or pleasure, just pick one.”

“Which answer would you prefer?” he asked, and everything, his heart and soul and all his hopes, rested on her decision.

She smiled, slowly, and he glanced at her to see her eyes sparkling. “I’m not dressed for business, now am I?”

Gold almost swallowed his tongue.

“If… if I were to say that I’d been thinking about you for months,” he ventured, “Would you wish that I’d snarled something about finance instead?”

“If you were to say that,” she said, slowly, “then I would reply that when I saw Mayor Mills’ message on my desk this morning, I found myself hoping it was from you. You’re sort of the highlight of my week… even when you’re telling me I’m a naïve hippy liberal who’s ruining the next generation.”

Gold wondered if he’d crashed the car a few miles back, and was now in some sort of happy coma dream. There was no way Belle had enjoyed his little game, no way at all, even if she wasn’t scared of him and maybe had been flirting with him earlier, and had agreed to this evening. No way at all. Even though, come to think of it, Belle was smart and resourceful enough to likely be more than capable of negotiating her way out of that, if she’d wanted to. He had a feeling that no one decided Belle’s fate but her, and if she’d made this decision it was because she had wanted to.

A fierce rush of disbelief and hope ran through him, and then he really did think about pulling over, because suddenly the urge to kiss her had become too strong to resist. At that very moment, however, Belle cried out, “Oh God, no! Stop the car!”

Gold did as bade, and pulled over to the side of the road, already ruminating that the brief, wonderful moments when he’d felt like she wanted him were worth cherishing, even though she had apparently now come to her senses. But as he turned to ask her what exactly she had remembered about him to cause such an outburst, Gold noticed that Belle wasn’t even looking at him: she was staring in horror at the school where they’d pulled up, and more importantly at the large moving van parked outside.

The moving truck which, judging by the burly men and the Mayor’s smile, was there to empty the library.

Before he could say another word, Belle’s hand was on the handle of the door, and she was launching herself out of the car with a muttered, “Oh, hell no, not now, not today.” Gold watched in awe as she stalked up the grassy hill toward the Mayor, every inch of her primed and ready for a fight, even in her pretty dress and sky-high heels.

He staggered out of the car on his side, and raced after her as fast as his bum leg would allow. Belle was already planted in front of Regina when he got there, and he could see she did not need any assistance.

“I had a week!” she cried, “You said a week, and I’ve found the funding now, so you can’t do this!”

“I can do this, dear,” Regina corrected, snidely, “because I have permission to close the library as soon as possible. The moving company had a cancellation; fortunately for us we got moved up the list.”

“I’ve found the funding,” Belle snarled, “You can’t do this!”

“Have you submitted a financial proposal to the governors?” Regina replied, coolly, “Produced bank statements and evidence of this magical new source of revenue? Because if not, I’m afraid there’s nothing to stop me.”

“Actually, dearie,” Gold interjected, “I’m afraid there is. According to the town charter, the school is a public venture, not a private institution. Therefore any objections to major changes have to be put to all the relevant parties, not just your pet committees. I assume you’ve had a referendum amongst the parents, and proven to everyone’s satisfaction that there is no recourse?”

Regina’s lips pressed hard together into a tight line, and Gold knew he had her. “It was an emergency decision,” she said at last, “there wasn’t time.”

“Does the building have asbestos?” he inquired, concerned, “Or termites, perhaps?”

“We’re running at a loss,” she insisted, “cuts had to be made.”

“Indeed, especially if we’re to afford that multi-million dollar gymnasium you’re so interested in,” he agreed, mildly. “Which, again, no parent was consulted on. The PTA is a charity, fundraising committee, Regina, not a substitute for obeying the letter of the law.”

Regina’s eyes turned frosty, hate-filled, and Gold beamed unrepentantly, happy as only a man who knows this is the best day of his life can be. Her gaze slid back to Belle filled with pure poison, but Belle met it without flinching. Gold wanted to kiss her so badly in that moment he could barely breathe.

“This is a… cosy little arrangement you’ve found, dear,” Regina sneered, “but it won’t last. The moment your… bedroom favours aren’t enough to keep up the payments…”

Gold wanted to slap her senseless for that slice of cruelty, but Belle didn’t even blink. Her smile was almost sweet, a slice of sugar across her pretty face, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stabbed Regina a moment later. “Mr Gold is here for his child, Mayor Mills, as you should be. Perhaps instead of lecturing me on who I should spend time with, you should be spending a little more time thinking about your own son.”

“You’re done here, Regina,” Gold advised her, “I’d leave before you manage to cross the line into genuine assault, and Sheriff Swan has to get involved.”

Mayor Mills tossed her hair, and with a final, grudgingly professional smile, she nodded and stalked away down the grass. Gold could hear her calling off the movers with terse, angry commands, but the soft, warm feel of Belle’s hand sliding into his distracted his attention.

“Thank you,” she said. “I wouldn’t have known all of that.”

“Normally, neither would I. Bae asked me to help three days ago,” Gold admitted, unable to lie to her with her fingers wrapped around his. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in irritation. He at least had the grace to look and feel a little ashamed of himself. “I’ve done my research.”

“So that whole argument this afternoon was what… sport?” she demanded, and he squirmed a little under her gaze. She sighed, the fight leaving her as quickly as it had come, an exasperated smile tugging at her lips. “Did it honestly take you fifteen minutes of threats and insults to find an excuse just to ask me out?”

“No, it took me two months of insults and criticisms to find an excuse to ask you out,” he corrected, and then was silenced by the soft crush of Belle’s lips slamming against his. They kissed for long seconds, as he dragged her against him and coaxed her mouth open with his own, lips and tongues working feverishly to devour one another whole.

“You really are the most impossible man!” she scolded, as soon as they’d parted for breath. “Come on,” she decided, her hand clenching in his as she set off toward the school, “I have a key, let’s go check the books are still there.”

“Wait, one minute we’re kissing, and then books?” he asked, trailing after her like a confused puppy.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I won’t be able to enjoy tonight if I think the books might be gone, and I want to enjoy tonight.”

“Wait…  _enjoy_ , enjoy?” he asked, blinking, and as she opened the doors and pulled him inside, she slammed him back against the wall and kissed him breathless all over again, this time allowing him no room to fight back, plundering his mouth with her tongue until his head spun.

“Yes,” she panted, drawing back, hands smoothing his rumpled suit. Her hair was mussed from his hands, her lips swollen, and he wanted to damn the books and drag her back to his car right then. But she was right, he knew: she wouldn’t relax until she knew the library was still safe. And he liked that about her, even while he still thought it was ridiculous to care that much when he’d buy her a hundred libraries if she so wished. “I mean to  _enjoy_  this whole night, over and over again.”

Gold felt himself harden rapidly at that thought, and it was only the pain in his ankle from their braced position that kept him focused. Library first, he thought, then dinner, and then finally they’d go home. Her place, he supposed, unless he fancied explaining to Bae why his teacher was sleeping over. But even getting through dinner was going to be a challenge at this rate, if she kept looking at him like that.

She all but dragged him through the corridors, Gold’s ankle protesting every step of the way and Gold himself not minding one bit. But when they reached the library doors, Belle made an unladylike noise of frustration: the doors were locked tight shut with medieval dungeon-grade chains.

“Goddamnit!” Belle cried, then sighed, defeated, “I had hoped she’d made it up here before we arrived,” she explained, “and unlocked them to let those removal men in.”

“Is it just a simple lock?” Gold inquired, stepping closer. He was surprised to see that it was, a massive and intimidating padlock to be sure, but a padlock none the less. No combinations, no codes: just good old-fashioned lock and key.

And that, Gold knew how to deal with.

“You want to get inside?” he checked, and Belle nodded.

“It’s fine,” she brushed it off, “I can see from here the books are fine… it would have been nice to give my backer a tour of his investment, but if it’s locked it’s locked, right?”

“Wrong,” he grinned, and reached up to her hair, plucking two slender bobby pins from her mass of curls. Belle’s eyes fluttered closed, and she shivered at the sensation of his fingers in her hair. The look on her face sent his blood rushing south again, and he eagerly waited for the moment when he could inspire it on purpose. Belle watched with confusion as he knelt awkwardly, his ankle held off to one side, and inserted both pins into the lock.

It was an old trick, hackneyed and cliché, and while it had been useful in the scrublands of Glasgow as a child, Gold had found today’s security more than a match for two bobby pins and some effort. Thankfully, Regina appeared to have found the oldest, cheapest locks known to man: the chains fell open with only a few minutes’ effort. They weren’t even wrapped around the handles very securely, for with one hard tug, Gold had them in a heavy pile on the floor.

Belle was watching him, mouth agape. “I didn’t know people did that in real life!” she cried, and Gold winked roguishly.

“You know, that doesn’t normally work,” he admitted, “I don’t think Regina had formal sanction to put these locks here. I think she had to buy them out of her own pocket, and put them on herself.”

“Vindictive bitch,” Belle muttered, murder flashing in her bright blue eyes, and while Gold had thought her beautiful when she was angry at him, she was perfection itself while plotting someone else’s murder. Then her eyes flicked up to his, another thought occurring and another kind of heat burning in her gaze, “That was ah, that was kind of hot, you know.”

“Picking the locks?” Gold’s eyebrows rose in surprise as Belle nodded, biting her lower lip. “Strange girl,” he muttered, and kissed her again, taking her by surprise this time and taking control of the kiss. His tongue swept through her mouth, eliciting small moans and whimpers as he mapped every little sensitive place. He worried on her lower lip with his teeth as he pulled back, and saw her eyes dark and hooded, her breath uneven. “Let’s see to your books,” he rasped, and she nodded, dazedly.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Let’s.”

He took her hand again, and lead her into her library, watching with satisfaction as her face lit up to find it unmarred. “She didn’t touch it,” she sighed with relief, “I was so worried but no, everything’s where it should be.”

“You’ve really made this place something special,” he noted, impressed, looking around at the heavy paper and wood sculptures hanging from the exposed beams of the ceiling, the heavy, soft chairs and rugs, the bright pictures on the walls, and every piece of art clearly made by a child at the school. It wasn’t just pretty, he realised: it was theirs. It belonged utterly to the school and its children, just as it should. Bae had been right when he’d said it was the only place in the building that didn’t look like a prison. Belle had managed to create a little piece of happy, peaceful paradise even in a hellhole policed ruthlessly by Regina Mills, and it was breath-taking for all it small, warm hominess.

“Thank you,” Belle beamed, “it’s sort of my baby. Thank you for saving it.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, and then watched with interest as she stepped closer, and closer still, backing him against a desk.

“I’m really very grateful for your help, Mr Gold,” Belle told him, her voice coy and full and interesting insinuations. “I think you’re owed a little more than a dinner date.”

“This place is beautiful,” he told her, honesty coming easily to him with Belle smiling before him, “it’s worth saving.”

She sighed, and stepped close enough to finger his tie with her fingers, their bodies so close he could feel her warmth. “Everyone says you’re such a dragon,” she murmured, “I’m surprised you wouldn’t demand a higher price for your services.”

He caught onto her game slowly, and when he did his grin widened until he thought his face would split. “Well,” he said, “someone did say something about being devoured, at some point. That sounded interesting.”

“Someone did, didn’t they?” Belle grinned, and craned up to kiss him, letting out a little, laughing cry of surprise as she found herself spun around and lifted onto the desk. Gold stepped forward to stand between her legs, and braced himself on the edge of the table, leaning forward to inhale her, to breathe in her warmth and her sweetness and remind himself this was real. He had spent two months trying to convince himself he had her attention: now that he did, he had no idea what to do next.

Belle was shivering, shaking at his proximity, and Gold leaned closer to kiss her lips, and then across her cheek to her jaw, her neck, burying himself in her hair and never intending to come out. He worried at her pulse point, soothing the bite with his tongue, and hoped there’d still be a mark in the morning.

Belle’s hands wandered, first burying in his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that drove him wild. Then they braced on his shoulders, and then down his back to his arse, holding on and tugging him closer as she bucked wildly against him.

“Please,” she breathed, after he’d spent five solid minutes mapping and tormenting her neck, “Please…”

“Please what?” he teased, in a moment of devilment, but when her eyes caught his there was no laughter there, just wanting and a need so dark and so wonderful it made him shake and press in against her, his achingly hard cock firm between her legs.

“Devour me,” she breathed, and Gold was undone. He slid a hand under her skirt, up that soft, smooth thigh that had so entranced him earlier, and found her underwear, sliding inside to find her inexplicably hot and wet. As if she wanted him, really, truly wanted him, unbelievable as that was.

“You really want this?” he had to check, once more before he lost his mind, “Here?”

“Regina’s tainted this place with her malice,” Belle replied, and he wasn’t sure how she was capable of long words and sense when he was barely thinking straight, but it was intensely attractive. Just like everything else about her, he supposed. “I want to reclaim it. It’s not just mine now, after all, it’s ours.”

“Ours,” he nodded, the thought of explicitly sharing something of such value and importance with her making his head spin. Maybe one day they’d also share a home, a life, and care of his son.

The thought of that made him kiss her again, hard and urgent and deep, and it was up to Belle’s clever little fingers to delve between them and remove her underwear before scrabbling with his belt. He helped her, tugging at his flies with single-minded intent, before he finally sprang free, hard and aching and ready for her.

Almost ready, that was. While sharing a library would be wonderful, Gold wasn’t sure either one of them was ready to share anything else, particularly a child. Unfortunately he’d been both pessimistic and short-sighted, and forgotten to bring a prophylactic.

“I ah,” he sighed, regretfully, “I don’t have anything with me.”

“It’s okay,” Belle laughed, “I’m clean and on the Pill. You’re clean, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Gold nodded, intensely grateful for her foresight. “Yes.” He gave a shaky laugh, and rested his forehead against hers, comforted by the feel of her hand on the back of his head.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I’m just… I can’t believe this is real.”

She kissed him again then, softer and more tender than ever before, and Gold wondered if he’d ever be able to get enough of her.

“Ready?” he checked, and she nodded. He eased himself into her slowly, and groaned as she gasped in completion when he was fully inside her. From there words were utterly lost to both of them, lost in the frantic rocking of his body against hers, regretfully pulling out before slamming back home again, and a shared litany of moans and whimpers, sighs and little, stifled cries.

Gold had forgotten how long it had been since he’d been with a woman, and with every slide of her slick, hot body against his, around him, surrounding him, Gold grew closer to his end. Unwilling to leave her disappointed, desperate to hear the sounds she made when completely, utterly satisfied, Gold redoubled his efforts, and slid a hand back up under her skirt, finding her slippery, engorged nub and rubbing it with his thumb in time with his thrusts. Belle yelped and cried out with pleasure, head thrown back and lush lips parted, and Gold swore no woman had ever been so beautiful. He buried his lips in her throat, lapping and kissing and biting around her neck, her collarbones, and any little piece of exposed skin he could find.

Finally, Gold felt Belle starting to shake and quiver in his arms, soft cries leaving her on every exhaled breath, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around him. She screamed his name at the height of her pleasure, and Gold pounded into her, racing for his own completion and desperate to prolong hers. Her climax tailed off just as his began, and as he grunted and groaned into her neck he felt her soft hands smoothing over his hair, warm, loose kisses pressed to his forehead and cheeks.

“We should probably move, in case she comes back,” Belle murmured, and Gold – having been too busy enjoying Belle to think of that eventuality – started to his feet.

He slid out of her and tidied himself up quickly, and watched as Belle neatly did the same. “Now,” she said, smiling up at him, impish and kind at the same time, “Dinner? I do still owe you a dinner date, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he grinned, “I believe you do.”


End file.
